“I’m not living with some random old woman,” said the grandson, staring straight ahead.
“Mum, you tell him! Im done explaining!” Helen tugged at the edge of the tablecloth, refusing to look at her son.
“Whats there to explain?” Greg set his mug of tea down and sat across from her. “Ive made myself clearIm moving out next week. Flats sorted, deposits paid.”
“Love, but how will we manage here” Helen started, but Greg cut her off with a sharp wave.
“Mum, Im twenty-seven! Dont you think its about time I lived on my own?”
From the next room came a muffled cough, then the sound of something clattering to the floor, followed by irritated muttering.
“There, you see?” Helen sighed. “Shes dropped something again. Id better check.”
“Dont.” Greg placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let her sort it out herself. Youre not her carer.”
“Greg, shes elderly”
“Mum, stop!” His voice hardened. “Shes nothing to you. Nothing! Just Dads mum, the woman who never had a kind word for you in her life.”
Helen winced as if struck. It was trueMargaret had never accepted her. Twenty-eight years ago, when shed married Gregs dad, Margaret had been icy and dismissive. Told the neighbours her son couldve done better, that Helen wasnt good enough, that she had a nasty temper. And after Greg was born? Shed outright declared shed raise the boy herself because his mother was clueless.
“Remember what she called you?” Greg pressed, seeing hed hit a nerve. “That Helen of yours. Not even by namejust that Helen. And when Dad died”
“Stop,” Helen whispered. “Dont bring that up.”
But Greg wouldnt let it go. Three years had passed since his fathers funeral, and the memories still stung. Margaret had coldly declared the house was hers now, that Helen and Greg should start looking for somewhere else to live. That shed had enough of “outsiders” in her home.
“And who picked her up off the floor when she had that stroke?” Greg snapped. “Who called the ambulance? Who sat by her hospital bed?”
“Enough,” Helen stood, gathering the dishes.
“No, its not enough! You know what shes doingbanging pots at night, blaring the telly, making snide remarks about the food, the medicine”
“Helen! Helen, get in here!” Margarets voice rang out.
Helen automatically turned toward the door, but Greg grabbed her wrist.
“Where do you think youre going? If she wants something, she can get up herself.”
“Greg, shes ill”
“Ill? Shes fit as a fiddle! Just used to bossing people around. Dad waited on her hand and foot, and now youre doing it.”
“Helen!” The shout was sharper now. “Are you deaf?”
Helen yanked her arm free and hurried to Margarets room. The old woman lay in bed, blankets pulled up to her chin. A newspaper lay crumpled on the floor.
“Pick that up,” Margaret nodded at it. “I want to read.”
“Margaret, have you got your glasses?”
“Course I have. Think Im blind?” She fumbled them onto her nose. “And bring tea. Properly hot this time. Yesterdays was lukewarm rubbish.”
Helen silently retrieved the paper, set it on the nightstand, and went to put the kettle on. Greg sat at the table, scowling.
“So, off to obey orders again?”
“Dont start,” Helen sighed.
“Mum, listen to me,” Greg pulled his chair closer. “Im moving. And youre coming with me.”
Helen froze, kettle in hand.
“What?”
“Its simple. Two-bed flatplenty of space. Youll finally live without the nagging and the drama.”
“And what about her?”
“She can manage however she likes. You reap what you sow.”
“Greg, I cant Shell be completely alone.”
“Good. Maybe then shell realise what your help was worth.”
Helen set the kettle on the hob, bracing herself against the counter. Guilt and relief tangled in her chest.
“Mum, remember what she said after Dads funeral?” Gregs voice softened. “You can start packingthis house is mine now. Remember?”
Helen nodded. That moment was burned into her memory. Theyd just returned from the cemetery, changed out of black, sat down for teawhen Margaret, silent all through the service, suddenly announced things were changing. That Helen and Greg didnt belong there. That it was time they found their own place.
“And who said they wouldnt leave?” Greg continued. “Who swore theyd look after her anyway?”
“I did,” Helen admitted. “But it was different then. Shed just buried her son”
“Mum, its been three years! Three years of you cooking, cleaning, running her to doctors. And whats she ever done? Said thank you even once?”
Helen thought. It was truenot one word of gratitude. Just complaints. Soup too salty, laundry not done right, wrong pills bought. And last week, Margaret had told the neighbour, Mrs. Thompson, that she was living with strangers who were just waiting for her to die.
“Helen! Wheres my tea?” Margarets voice carried down the hall.
“Coming!” Helen called, but Greg blocked her path.
“No. Sit down.”
“Greg”
“Mum, sit. We need to talk properly.”
Reluctantly, Helen sank into a chair. Greg took her hands.
“Mum, I wont live with some random old woman,” he said, holding her gaze. “And neither should you. Youre only fifty-two. Youve got your whole life ahead. Why waste it on someone who doesnt appreciate you?”
“Shes not random. Shes your grandmother.”
“Grandmother?” Greg laughed bitterly. “She never loved me. Remember how shed say I took after you? Bad-tempered, just like his mum. And when I got into uni? Waste of moneyhell amount to nothing.”
Helen stayed quiet. She remembered every cruel word, how theyd cutbut her husband had brushed it off. Mums difficult, but she means well.
“Helen!” Margarets shout was furious now. “Have you dropped dead out there?”
Greg stood abruptly and marched to her room. Helen heard him say,
“Gran, Mums busy. If you want tea, make it yourself.”
“How dare you speak to me like that?” Margaret spluttered. “Get your mother!”
“Not happening. And just so you knowwere moving out in a week.”
“Moving where?”
“New place. Me and Mum.”
Silence. Then Margarets disbelieving voice:
“And me?”
“Youll stay here. Alone. Like you always wanted.”
“Greg!” Helen called, but he was already striding back, satisfied.
“Done,” he said. “Now let her stew.”
“Whyd you do that? You shouldve talked to me first”
“Mum, whats to discuss? Weve gone over this a hundred times. Youve said yourself youre exhausted, cant take her nastiness anymore.”
It was true. Helen had complained, especially after Margaret called her a freeloader in front of the neighbours.
“But shes old, ill”
“Mum, shes seventy-five, not ancient! And no sicker than anyone her age. She just milks it.”
Sobbing noises came from the bedroom. Helen stood, but Greg shook his head.
“Dont. Its an act. Cry now, play the victim later.”
“Greg, what if shes genuinely upset?”
“Genuine?” He snorted. “Mum, youve forgotten what she said after Dad died. Start packing. Where were her tears then? Where was her pity for us?”
Helen remembered. Margaret had been dry-eyed, triumphant even, delivering her ultimatum.
“And then what happened? A stroke. And who saved her? Called the ambulance, sat in hospital, fetched her medicine?”
“Me,” Helen whispered.
“Exactly. And after? Back to the usual: nothings ever good enough.”
The crying stopped abruptly. Silence fell.
“See?” Greg nodded toward the room. “No audience, no performance.”
Helen drank a glass of water, thoughts churning. Greg was right. Margaret had never loved or valued her. Criticised, humiliated her for decades. Tried to throw them out after her sons death.
But leaving an old woman alone Wasnt that cruel?
“Mum, I know this is hard,” Greg said softly. “Youre kind. Youve got a conscience. But think about yourself. Dont you want to live too?”
Helen nodded. She did. Desperately. Without the tension, the daily digs, the walking on eggshells. To wake up and not immediately brace for criticism.
“Remember how things were before?” Greg asked. “When Dad was alive? We used to talk, go to the theatre sometimes. Whens the last time you went anywhere?”
Helen thought. Three years of nothing but work, chores, doctors visits. Her mate Sarah had invited her to the cinematwicebut shed said no. Couldnt leave Margaret alone too long.
“Mum, just try it,” Greg urged. “Well move, give it a month or two. If she really cant cope, well figure something out.”
“But what if something happens while were gone?”
“Shes got a phone. Neighbours. We could even hire a carerif shell pay for it.”
Footsteps shuffled down the hall. Margaret appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily on the frame. Helen tensed.
“So,” the old woman said, “youre abandoning me?”
“Gran, no ones abandoning you,” Greg said calmly. “Were just moving out.”
“And what am I supposed to do? Im ill, Im old”
“Youre not as helpless as you pretend,” Greg said. “Besides, you were the one who told us to leave three years ago. Remember?”
Margaret blinked, caught off guard.
“Thatthat was different”
“How?” Greg stepped closer. “Same house, same people. Whats changed?”
“Im frail now! I need help!”
“Maybe you shouldve thought of that earlier,” Greg said coldly. “Maybe you shouldnt have driven away the person whos looked after you for three years.”
Margarets eyes flicked to Helen.
“Helen, you wont leave me? You know I need you”
Helen stayed silent, torn between pity and resentment.
“Mum,” Greg said quietly, “tell her the truth. Tell her youre tired of the jabs. That it hurts to be treated like an outsider in your own home.”
“I never called her an outsider!” Margaret protested.
“No? What did you tell Mrs. Thompson? That you lived with strangers waiting for you to die?”
Margaret faltered.
“II didnt mean it like that”
“Then how did you mean it?” Greg pressed. “Mums been in this family thirty years. Thirty years of putting up with you. And you still treat her like she doesnt belong.”
Helen walked to the window, heart heavy. She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldnt come.
“Margaret,” she said, back turned, “do you remember what you said to me three years ago?”
“Helen, I was grieving”
“You said, You can start packingthis house is mine. Remember?”
Silence.
“And you said youd had enough of outsiders. Remember that too?”
“Helen, I didnt”
“Doesnt matter what you meant,” Helen faced her. “What matters is what you said. And we havent forgotten.”
Margaret sank onto a chair, suddenly seeming smaller.
“But Im unwell I need help”
“You do,” Helen agreed. “But why should it come from the people youve spent a lifetime pushing away?”
Margaret twisted the hem of her dressing gown, silent.
“Margaret,” Helen continued, “youve made sure I knew my place wasnt here. Why should I stay now that youve decided you need me?”
“Becausebecause its whats right,” Margaret muttered.
“Right for who?” Greg cut in. “You? What about whats right for us? A lifetime of your sniping?”
Margaret looked up at him, eyes suddenly wet.
“Greg, youre my grandson”
“A grandson you never loved. One you said would amount to nothing.”
“II didnt think youd remember”
“I remember. So does Mum. We remember everything.”
Something in Helen snappeda tension held too long finally giving way.
“You know what, Margaret?” she said quietly. “We are moving. Next week.”
Margaret flinched.
“Helen”
“Not Helen. Mrs. Carter. And yes, were leaving. Youll have the house to yourself, like you wanted.”
“But how will I”
“How were we supposed to manage when you threw us out?” Helen sat across from her. “Wed have coped, wouldnt we?”
Margarets head drooped.
“I was grieving then”
“And we werent?” Helen said. “Burying my husband, Gregs father? But we didnt threaten to make you homeless.”
The silence stretched. Greg by the window, Helen at the table, Margaret hunched and diminished.
“Perhaps we could reconsider,” Margaret said finally.
“Reconsider what?” Greg asked.
“Well maybe I was harsh”
Helen shook her head.
“Too late, Margaret. Far too late. Weve made our decision.”
And she had. Right there, at the kitchen table, looking at the woman whod made her life miserable. She deserved her own life. A home without daily barbs. A son who could bring friends over without shame. Mornings without dread.
“Mum,” Greg squeezed her shoulder, “Im proud of you.”
Helen noddedand for the first time in years, smiled properly.
